


Borealis Easter Eggs

by tainry



Series: Borealis [5]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, OCs - Freeform, PNP, Tactile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5882902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tainry/pseuds/tainry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various little addendums that have been posted in the comments for Borealis over on LJ. Short bits of things that I forgot to put in the chapters proper, or that people asked to see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bird and Bee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumblebee teaches Borealis the Ways of the Clang!

2016 - May

Master Sergeant McHenry half-grinned at his radar screen as the dark stealth jet approached the runway to land. He was young, and hadn’t been part of the action nine years ago when the original five Autobots had first arrived. (The knowledge that Bumblebee had already been on Earth for four years before Optimus and the other three had come was seldom recalled, and most people involved let it stay obscure.) But he was proud to be trusted as part of the team now. The big jet had partially dropped her shields, allowing them to track her once she was five miles out, though they’d carefully cleared other air traffic away. The mission was over, and Borealis had already sent them the multi-EM-frequency data recordings the Sec Def had requested. 

Bumblebee was down in one of the hangars, acting as a relay while Borealis had been on the other side of the planet, using satellites and coded transmissions no human agency could eavesdrop on. Sam and Mikaela were spending the next several days at the embassy, so Bee had an unusually free evening, while Jazz had been engaged elsewhere. 

_They’re all watching me, aren’t they,_ Borealis fretted, tight-beamed to Bee. 

_You can do it, relax._

_Crap._

She came in a little hot, but didn’t crash. 

_Good job,_ Bee told her, amused. She was her own worst enemy 50 meters from the ground. And her concentration suffered for some reason when she didn’t have passengers – or, more particularly, Epps on board. _Now all you have to do is taxi in here and you can transform. We can stroll back to base in the moonlight, how’s that?_

_Geh. I hate taxiing._

_You’re the one who insisted on being a jet._

_Yeah, yeah…_ Once she was safely inside and the rolling door was shut, she transformed, stretching mightily to settle her still-hot armor.

“Steamy,” said Bee. “I should have brought dim sum. Come on.” He led the way out the back, along less-frequented areas of the base until they reached the fence. Bee jumped and Borealis walked over it, out into the desert. 

_Beautiful night,_ Borealis said. She liked the sounds their bodies made as they moved. The low whine of servos, the intermittent, musical hum and hiss of hydraulics, the solid _k-k-ch’ **thud**_ of their pedal mechanisms. She also liked the way the air moved _through_ her limbs in places, as though she were made of lacy ironwork like the fantastic Art Nouveau and Victorian train stations and palaces in Paris. She almost wished she had hair, to feel it blowing, but the wind’s caresses over her complex surface made up for it. And the stars were singing wondrous songs far above. She held her arms out as she walked, spreading her fingers.

 _It is,_ Bee agreed, watching her. He decided then what he was going to do, it was only the approach he still had to work out. 

As the mesa that sheltered the embassy came into view on the horizon, they crossed onto a rocky lip where the ground dropped abruptly, more or less devoid of sessile terrestrial life forms, and, more importantly, free of sand. It was as good a place as any.

_Borealis, wait a moment?_

_Hm?_ She stopped and turned to look down at him, her outstretched arms turning like wings. 

_Do you know what we mean by ‘interfacing’?_

_I’m guessing it doesn’t involve keyboards and mice, but other than that I don’t seem to have gotten that in the basic startup software package, no. Or, wait, do you mean overloading to defrag?_

Bee shook his head. _Kind of, but not entirely. May I?_ He extended his main trunk cable, feeling for a moment like an old weirdo in a trench coat flashing a ten-year-old. Except the “ten-year-old” in question was almost three times his size. _It’s easier to show than tell._

Realizing that Bumblebee might indeed regard words as a lesser form of communication, she complied willingly, sitting on the stony escarpment so he could reach, dangling her legs over the side. 

It was precisely the position he’d hoped for, if a little precarious. Well, it wasn’t that far a drop.

Bee moved in close and went right for her torso data port – it was more sensitive than the forearm ports generally were. He settled his cable in place but didn’t open the connection yet. _Now you do the same to me. Plugs and ports are all standard sized, don’t worry._

 _Yeah, I’m so not going there._

The cable would have reached, but as she extended it to his open port he climbed into her lap, standing on her upper leg segments so they were face-to-face, leaving no doubt as to what he was up to at this point. _I’m going to open the two-way. Ready?_ She nodded, and then at the last microsecond he wondered if he really knew what he was in for, with someone whose spark hadn’t come directly from the Allspark. Would this even work? What if she—

 _Oh, Primus!_ He was glad he’d taken a solid grip on her pectoral armor. Her processors had some oomph, that was for sure. Already at the edge of human physics, she was absorbing the Cybertronian science at an alarming rate and all the time she wanted needed more asking why and how, and beneath that all the blue-eyed faces who turned away not erasing the few who did not, and far above that all the time she could hear the calling and every part of her yearned for the stars. 

We’ve got to get her hooked up with interstellar drives, he thought in a corner of his mind behind the outermost firewall. As soon as possible.

Borealis, without lungs, nevertheless gasped. _Ohgod…ohdearsweetBEE!_ She extended one arm behind to catch herself, wrapping the other hand protectively around Bumblebee at her chest. Her mind was full of Bee. Sunshine and swiftness, kindness and mischief, the need to be useful, that which humans called duty but was for him a source of joy, the power of his devotion – and his solar cannon. Everything was Bee, and it was the happiest she had ever felt. 

She pressed him closer, an unconscious warble sneaking through her vocal processor. Emotions began to feedback, and she followed the process with curiosity and delight. She had been programmed with the basic overload procedure, but it had never occurred to her that one could do it with another person. It felt so good to be immersed in Bee, she didn’t want to stop, no matter where the cascade took them. 

He had meant to start with the purely physical method, thinking her human memories, her human self, would find that more familiar. The cables were so he could chirp his own files on the subject to her at high speed, and so he could monitor her response precisely. But if this was working he was happy to run with it. 

_**Telepathic** giant alien robots,_ came the thought leaking from her. She was wide open, all firewalls but the deepest, most basic dropped away. She had no control, no finesse. She wanted everything all at once and gave it all as well. _Oh Bee you are so lovely!_ She drank him in like the finest mead, golden and powerfully intoxicating.

Bee shuddered and clung to her tightly. Ratchet was right. They treated her like a child, and she spoke like one; careful and shy, responding with eagerness and humor, sometimes out of measure, whenever the least kindness was shown her. But here she was down beneath, writing new equations of affection and desire, reconceptualizing the foundations of the universe out of love. It was overwhelming, and incredibly flattering. 

_Not immune,_ he thought, laughing at himself as he rode the waves of feedback into overload. 

His overload triggered hers. Her vocal processor made a series of undignified noises, rising in pitch and volume, and she arched backwards, collapsing against the stone as her thought lattices collapsed and she wondered if she was dying again only it felt so wonderful like flying but drowning only she didn’t breathe any more she flew and the stars’ singing was the last thing she heard for a while.

Bee onlined first, draped over her chest; as much like a boneless thing as someone with an exoskeleton could be. He could feel the heat of her spark through his zygomatic plate. And that was definitely the next thing to try with her. The thought made his own chest shiver with the effort to remain closed. 

She came online again at last and blinked up at him slowly. She reached up and touched his cheek guards with a fingertip. Wonderful Bee. Tracing his supra- and sub-orbital bars carefully, she decided he really did have an adorable face. They were still cabled together, though most of their firewalls were back in place. Bee wriggled encouragement, so she moved her hands lower, across his shoulders, around to finger his door-wings, until she found the sensitive spot beneath them, eliciting a hum of pleasure that she echoed without meaning to. 

This was a fun game. He rolled off her onto his back, exposing a mosaic of armor and sensitive under-structure. He was better armored on the front, but this made finding the vulnerable, pleasurable bits all the more entertaining. She followed his cues eagerly.

 _Strange there isn’t much of a concentration of haptic receptors here,_ she said, running a fingertip slowly between his legs. 

_Not strange,_ Bee said, not entirely composed. _Natural._ Except Bumblebee had spent a lot of time around humans. A lot of time around Sam. And he had made psychological connections where he lacked physical ones. He spread his legs and squirmed as she stroked the edges of his pelvic gimbals. 

_Oh ho!_ she said. And extended small, secondary manipulating digits that he hadn’t known she had from the undersides of her fingers, dragging the delicate tips over and around his lubricant cap. Words failed him, but in a good way. His fingers scraped sparks from the stone beneath them. After some fiddling about, beneath which Bee writhed, she figured out how to open the cap and dipped a little-finger inside. Bee emitted a pitiful squeak and held quite still, ridiculously close to overload already. She didn’t touch any of the fragile interior parts, but merely swirling the hot liquid around in its storage tank was enough stimulation to send the glowing blue waves dashing over his body as overload pulled him under again. Bound by the cables, she followed. 

…

_Oof. You’re heavy._

_Mm? Oh! I’m sorry!_ She took her weight on her arms, but didn’t move far off him. The night was turning cold, and she felt an odd, unnecessary desire to protect him from it, curling around him and cradling his head on her arm. The cables were still all connected and everything they did or said was echoed each to the other.

Bee was enjoying the cuddle, but there was at least one more thing he wanted to try, as much out of his own curiosity as her benefit and education. He ran his fingers over her chest, tapping in places, scratching in others, slowly, meticulously. Her chameleon armoring was as frictionless as Jazz’s, and the starlight ran over it in subtle layers, iridescent and silvery. He squirmed upward just enough to reach her face. Autobots weren’t really built for kissing – generally their chests made getting faces that close a problem. But he could touch her lips with his fingers, and even if Autobot lips weren’t as sensitive as human ones, she would understand the gesture, and perhaps feel it as he had when she stroked between his legs. Indeed she made surprised little puckering movements with her mouthparts, nibbling his fingers lightly, rolling her oral polyhedron in a way that sort of approximated licking, though it couldn’t be extended like a tongue. 

He moved back down again, aligning their chest plates this time, petting hers more firmly. _Open,_ he whispered. _Please…open._

She shivered against him. _I…oh, how do I…?_ And so he released his seals a millimeter to show her, his heat and light bathing her like a little sun. _So…beautiful…_ He arched his back and opened wider, making a small mewling sound until her chest gave a crackle and hiss, parting for the first time. Her spark’s corona lashed out; she had no idea how to control it, that it could even be controlled. She felt the power drain, felt exposed and afraid the cold would seep in, but the blazing heat from within streamed outward instead like blue-white solar flares. And then she moaned as she felt her corona overlap Bee’s.

This was more than thought and emotion shared. She thought she had understood him before, but this was intimacy beyond telepathy. His spark was what made Bee Bee, uniquely himself, like DNA, heart and soul at once, all of Vulcan in one package. It meant everything, it was what made them alive. 

Bumblebee tried to regulate the contact, Borealis was spinning out of control, her chest opening much too wide, and he was being drawn in; immersed in a powerful spark like he hadn’t felt since the last time he and Optimus—

 _Primus! She tastes like—oh PRIME!_ His throat arched and the lightning overwhelmed him.

When he came online again, he sincerely hoped he hadn’t transmitted that last thought, but was rather afraid he had. Touching her spark was such a shock, he couldn’t help it. She’d been in the throes of overload herself, maybe she hadn’t noticed. He hoped so.

 _Borealis?_ She was very slow to come online this time. He disconnected all but the first cable and shook her shoulder. _Borealis._

 _Nnnnngghzzzt. MmmBee. Am I still attached?_ She groped at her chest, uncoordinated and dazed. But her spark chamber was safely closed and sealed again. 

Bumblebee chuckled and patted her nearest hand. _You’re all right. Ratchet would deactivate me if I slagged your CPU doing this._

_He would not._

_No, but he would be very angry. You have a lovely spark, thank you for sharing it with me._

_**I** have a…? Bee! Good grief. Is it always so…so…_ She made helpless gestures with one hand, shaking her head.

 _Spark-linking is always different, but always powerful, yes. It is the most intimate form of interfacing. I have heard that the Decepticons go without, because they can’t trust one another. Or the stronger force the weaker – I don’t know. But I wanted you to understand that interface is as basic a need as recharge or energon. And humans have ideas about pleasure and intimacy that we Autobots do not share._ He sat up so he could look into her optics, and he opened the connection through the last cable as wide as it could go. _Don’t close yourself in, don’t let those who are uncomfortable with your origin make you afraid. Prime and Ratchet won’t stand for it, and neither will I._

 _It’s all right. I’m all right. Thank you, Bumblebee._ She was new, coming into an established group, and she was different. She understood the dynamics of that very well indeed. 

He lay down at her side again, content to let the static buildup from their overloads disperse slowly into the moisture in the air. She was very warm, like Prime. Like Prime, but without his overwhelming power, or the disconcerting proximity to the Matrix and Allspark. The mechs were going to be beating down her door once word got out. Bee snuggled closer and softly played on the radio: _“So lady/Let me take a look at you now/You’re there on the dance floor/Making me want you somehow/Oh lady/I think it’s only fair I should say to you/Don’t be thinkin’ that I don’t want you, ’cause maybe I do.”_

She snorted, but fiddled with the FM band for a while before finding, _“On shadowed ground/With no one around/And a blanket of stars in our eyes/We are drifting free/Like two lost leaves/On the crazy wind of the night/Darlin’ don’t say a word/‘Cause I already heard/What your body’s saying to mine/If I want it all night/You say it’s alright/Ooooooh, we got the time.”_

Bee immediately replied, “Give a little bit/Give a little bit of your love to me/Give a little bit/I’ll give a little bit of my love to you/There’s so much that we need to share/So send a smile and show you care.”

“Awww,” she said, to cover how much longer it took her to find the right songs. “I hear your voice, it’s like an angel sighing/I have no choice, I hear your voice/Feels like flying.”

“If I had words/To make a day for you/I’d sing you a morning golden and true/I would make this day last for all time/Then fill the night deep in moon shine.” 

To keep the emotion of that from overwhelming her, she played, “Sweet little bumblebee, I know what you want from me/Dupi-dupi-du la la/Dupi-dupi-du la la/Sweet little bumblebee, more than just a fantasy/Dupi-dupi-du la la/Dupi-dupi-du la la…”

Bee groaned and retaliated with a slightly doctored, “I like big bots/And I cannot lie/You other brothers can’t deny/When a bot walks in with an itty-bitty waist and a round thing in your face/You get SPRUNG!” Which was more than Borealis could take with a straight face.

“IIIIIIIIIIIII love to love you, baby…” she tried, but couldn’t stop laughing.

Bee responded with, “Oooooh, it’s so good/It’s so good/It’s so good/It’s so good/It’s soooooo good…” but he couldn’t get past that part for laughing, either, and the whole exchange went downhill from there as they clambered to their feet and resumed their homeward trek. Peter Gabriel’s _I Have the Touch_ prompted _Lay Your Hands on Me_ , and Princess Superstar’s _Do It Like a Robot_ led to Styx’s _Mr. Roboto_. 

They staggered down to the embassy at last, the glow from the open hangar door guiding them home as a thin line of light brightened to the east. Bee was perched on Borealis’ shoulders and they were singing, “Oh lad I dunno where ye been/But I see ye won first priiiiiize…!” with great abandon.

Red Alert intercepted them at the door. “Stop that horrible screeching, both of you! That is not singing. You were supposed to report in hours ago. Borealis, put Bumblebee down before you drop him. Get inside and recharge it off, whatever you imbibed.” 

Bee made a rude noise and broadcast “Put de lime in de coconut and drink it all up” at Red but Borealis put him down because it was easier to get under the lintel that way. 

“Keep the peace/Keep the peace/Oh, Re-ed, keep the peace…” 

Borealis marveled at Bee’s ability to alter lyrics on the fly, seeming to use the singer’s own voice. He would blow Weird Al Yankovic’s mind.


	2. Bluebonnets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet coaxes Prowl in appreciation of some of Earth's beauty.

_Prowl_ , said Ratchet. _Stop for a moment._

Prowl halted, engine idling. Ratchet pulled up behind him and transformed, gazing about in what seemed to Prowl to be an indolent – and puzzling – manner. What was he looking for? Prowl's sensors weren't picking up any Decepticon incursion, nor even any human military presence aside from the air base they had just left. But he trusted that Ratchet would illuminate him if the matter was important. 

Ratchet tapped lightly on Prowl's roof. "Transform." Not an order; his tone was gentle, with harmonics indicative of pleasure and...wonder? Prowl transformed, gazing at Ratchet with a passive curiosity only slightly edged in wariness. Prowl didn't like not understanding a situation. 

"Look around," Ratchet said, smiling, waving his hands to indicate the valley around them. Prowl obediently scanned the area again. 

They were in a long, shallow valley, surrounded by hills rather than mountains. A looping river meandered across the valley floor to the north of the road they travelled, but Prowl wasn't certain whether the river had carved the valley or some other geological process was at work. The hills and valley floor were 98% covered by sessile non-sentient life forms, among which teemed small mobile life forms of various types. 78% of the sessile life forms had put forth relatively complex and colorful structures called inflorescences, which Prowl understood were involved with their reproductive process. 

"Ratchet, what am I looking for?" 

With a click that wasn't exactly exasperated, nor exactly sad, Ratchet answered softly, "The flowers, Prowl." He crouched, extending a hand to run his fingertips through the delicate structures. They were so small and fragile, Prowl wondered at first that Ratchet could feel them at all, then considered that the CMO's hands had an unusually dense concentration of haptic sensors. Ratchet could indeed feel these plants but Prowl knew he himself could not, as his haptic capabilities were set to the other end of the spectrum. 

"This world is so alive," Ratchet murmured, looking and sniffing, moving in such a way as to make it obvious that he was enjoying the sunlight on his armor. 

Prowl considered this, since Ratchet found it of such value that he had halted them in the middle of the road. Not that there was any other traffic out here, nor were they under any particular time constraints. This world did surge and thrash with life, certainly. The biosphere was a relatively thin shell, compared to the diameter of the planet, but that was often so on these rocky worlds. Organic life had a flailing, battering tenacity to it, with ephemeral individuals but a relatively constant total mass, the balancing mechanisms of which were rather interesting. And then it struck him. Ratchet meant that this valley, carpeted with flowers like the intricate rugs woven by various human tribal groups was beautiful. The grand sweep of the land was beautiful, the broad swathes of color were beautiful, the intricate folded shapes of individual flowers were beautiful, as were the insect pollinators and the soft furry things beneath, and the winged things in the deep blue sky, and the dance of life and new life beginning and old life ending to be reused...Prowl trembled for a moment, but swiftly controlled it, allowing the sudden downpour of emotion to sweep through him unimpeded. 

Ratchet touched his hand, offering an arm cable, which Prowl, still in tumult, accepted automatically. The link engaged with Ratchet's undiluted delight. 

_You DO get it! Prowl, that's wonderful!_ Ratchet conveyed that while Prowl's earlier, dispassionate analysis was also valuable, his emotional reaction should not then be dismissed as frivolous, either.


	3. Into the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage says goodbye to Countermeasure.

The night before Countermeasure left, Mirage led him alone up to the mesa top. They had concocted a cover story. A large battle 2.6 million years before near the wormhole node in the Eshems Nebula had destroyed many ships and scattered others. It was logical enough to suggest that one of the lost ships might have crashed on a planet, and that the sole survivor – Decepticons in survival situations quickly sorted out who was strongest, who deserved to live – had taken a considerable amount of time to rejoin the war. 

Countermeasure had gleaned memories from many of the older Autobots, particularly Skyfire and Ironhide, piecing together a unique history for Mez from disparate parts. Mirage now gave him further memories, Towers memories, to add to the variety and make it more difficult to pin down Mez's origins and thereby predict his reactions. Mirage further suggested ways of integrating the patchwork into a cohesive whole. Smokescreen had come at it from a functional viewpoint. Mirage looked at it as an artist, blending disparate metals into a unique alloy. 

_You must be patient,_ Mirage said, holding Countermeasure’s hands, and gaze. _Rash action will more often get you killed, but if you must run, be swift._

He gave him more info on his and Hound's past missions, particularly early in the war - things they were fairly certain the Decepticons had never been able to pin on them or had failed to attribute to sabotage. Even this was risky. Shockwave could extrapolate even from old data to predict future engagements and enable new defenses and strategies. If it gave Mez an in to Shockwave's good graces, however, it would be worth it. 

_If you can contrive to do so,_ Prowl added, _let fall in Shockwave’s presence that I was the AI Lance. If you can inform Shockwave alone, that would be ideal, but don’t risk too much for it._

Inside Prime’s office, Jazz leaned on the holotable, optics narrowing at Prowl. _How far in advance are you thinking?_

 _No farther than usual,_ Prowl said mildly. Jazz shook his head.

_Your intuition gives me the surges._

Mirage, however, wanted to haul Prowl up onto the holotable and ‘face him senseless right then and there. 

_One thing more,_ Mirage said, wrapping his arms around Countermeasure’s waist. _You must keep something of yourself no matter how much time you spend as Mez. Some small, bright, kind thing. A key, to remind you of yourself, of the reason why you're out there, suffering whatever you suffer._

"How do you know so much about this?" Mirage’s job was spying, certainly, but in a far more covert manner than what Countermeasure would endeavor.

"This isn't my first rodeo. Hound and I had a friend, long ago, who was a double agent. Longarm. We learned a great deal from his successes, and his mistakes." 

"Including the one that got him killed," Countermeasure guessed. 

"Yes." Mirage pressed his forehelm to Countermeasure’s and opened his spark chamber. _Spark of my spark, I don’t want you to go._

Built on Earth, growing in the tank immersed by the human nets, Countermeasure couldn’t help but feel like a youth, presented an adult challenge. He opened his own spark chamber, understanding that this was yet another form of information exchange. 

_But change is our deepest nature,_ Mirage said. _In some ways I have forgotten this. Prime asks me to remember, to keep alive whatever fragments of our culture remain. Perhaps Tracks has the better idea; to let the past give way to whatever new future we build._

Trembling, Countermeasure clung to Mirage, shaking his head. _I don’t think the past should be forgotten or discarded. It needs to be preserved somehow; acknowledged, learned from, integrated with deliberate reflection into the future._ He understood Mirage as he hadn’t before, as the coronae of their sparks fanned delicately together. Saw him as he truly was; a completely alien being, ancient and powerful. One who had brought both life and death into the universe. Countermeasure could not call “Father.” Not now. It was too human a concept.

Mirage’s glyphs formed complex layers of meaning that were nevertheless starkly clear, streaming into Countermeasure’s mind through and within the light of their sparks. 

_You, Hound and I are linked, now and forever. You are yourself, whatever you choose to be. I will never regret contributing to your existence. Ever._

A small, bright, kind thing Countermeasure would carry with him into the dark.


	4. Knight's Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie requests - and receives - a kiss from Prowl. :D

As they passed in the stem corridor, Maggie – kneeling precariously on Hound’s shoulder – felt Hound reach out and brush the backs of his fingers across Prowl’s hip. Hound had explained to her about Prowl. About how touching Prowl’s hands and forearms made him nervous, and why. Maggie felt embarrassed that she’d thought Prowl was “slow”, somehow retarded or processor-damaged at first, because he never left the Security office and spoke in such a clipped, stilted way. He was damaged, she understood, but not like that. 

_It’s okay,_ Hound tight-beamed. _She understands._ Maggie was one of less than a dozen humans who knew plenty about Cybertronian social customs and physical needs. 

_Yes,_ Prowl replied. _But humans are territorial, possessive. And if millions of overwrought blog entries are to be believed, extremely vulnerable to romantic distress._

 _She’s really okay,_ Hound said, firmly quashing the impulse to laugh. _While we’ve been experimenting she’s been mostly worried about whether we’re being rude to Mirage._

From Maggie’s point of view, there was no pause between Hound’s touch and Prowl turning toward them. Prowl’s chevron twitched. Like cat ears, Maggie thought. Hound reached up slowly, caught a spar of Prowl’s armor, and drew the taller mech’s head down for a quick, fluttery kiss. Maggie felt the rush of air, a wave of warmth, heard the soft scrape of metal on metal; and then Prowl was past, walking on as though nothing had happened. Hound had a silly little smirk on his face. 

“Oooo! I want a kiss, too!” she whispered to Hound, realizing as she spoke that Prowl could probably hear her. Oops. 

Prowl froze in mid-step.

“Well?” Hound said, waggling an orbital ridge at him. 

_But…squishy._

_Doable. She thinks you look like an Elven Knight. C’mon. Little things make people happy._ Hound’s harmonics ran solemn with the knowledge that she would be with them for so short a time…they should enjoy her while they could. 

_Point._ Prowl wasn’t going near the Elven Knight business. 

He bowed forward cautiously. Maggie realized Prowl was composed of very sharp-looking pieces, but she grabbed part of Hound’s helm and leaned way out as Prowl touched the side of her head with a corner of his mouth. She gave him a fast smooch before he got out of range.

 _You’ve got some lipstick on your mandible…_ Hound said as he and Maggie went on out to the hangar and Prowl continued on his way to the Security office.

 _Ah._ Prowl made the tiny smear of organic compounds go _tzzt!_ with a bit of shield-work, but not until Hound and Maggie were out of sight.


End file.
